


Happy Together

by RoughMoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, Feelings, First Time, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Romance, Stilinski Family Feels, Trust, Underage Drinking, magical connection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughMoon/pseuds/RoughMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘This is my life and this is my body, and I want to live it the way I want, share it with the person I decide.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John & Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> I sometimes feel the Sheriff is really easy and accepting of the Stiles - Derek relationship, so, although I love him, this conversation started to take shape in my head and then the rest just followed.
> 
> This is supposed to happen sometime before session 3, so there is no Cora, no references to the alpha pack and absolutely no Jennifer. Anyway, this is a fic about feelings and relationships mainly, so not a lot of typical canon action here. There are some flashbacks, but I tried to label them or use italics, so I hope it is not confusing.
> 
> Warning: graphic depictions of Hale fire in first chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and THANKS for reading!!

"Dad, you know we don’t really have to talk about this, right?"

It’s late afternoon, a bit before dinner time, and they are both in the kitchen, sitting at opposite sides of the table, their faces still, their eyes low, neither of them looking forward to start talking, silently hoping the phone would ring or someone would appear at their door forcing them to postpone this. Of course, nothing of that’s going to happen.

With a resigned look in his eyes, Stiles finally sighs and opens fire.

"Listen, I’ve made up my mind and I know what I want. I will be legally an adult in three more months, so I don’t think there really is a point on making this so painful for the two of us… I appreciate your concern, I know this is because you care about me, but I won’t stop seeing Derek because of that." He stops there to breathe and gather some more strength before continuing. He has finally said it, isn’t it amazing? He wanted to be firm and he thinks he somehow managed to achieve it. He keeps hoping this won’t go so badly after all, but he also notices his father is still not looking at him in the eye, and that’s not a very good sign, neither his almost white knuckles… Anyway, he has to try, he always tries, harder than anyone else, even more when he’s so unsure about the direction he’s hitting the ball.

"This is my life and this is my body, and I want to live it the way I want, share it with the person I decide." Hey, sometimes clichés are just the right thing to say, and even if three billion people have said those same words before him this is still the purest truth.

"I understand you would prefer I’d date a no-guy, no-olderthat17, no-werewolf person, but Derek’s the one I want. He’s the one, it is that simple. It really is. That’s why I told you instead of letting you find out from someone else, or just stepping into us to surprise us in a compromised situation. That would have been really embarrassing. But still, it wasn’t easy, only so that you know, not that I expect you to value the effort. Just like when I also told you about this whole supernatural world we’re living… and by the way, I don’t understand why you took the entire werewolf thing so much easier than this."

The Sheriff is narrowing his eyes now and looks at Stiles quite angrily before shootting back.

"Stop bullshitting me Stiles! Nothing’s simple here, can’t you see that? Maybe you won’t believe me, but I don’t care so much about the guy-23-warewolf thing, I’m worried about the “Derek Hale” thing mainly. Yeah, werewolves exist, I’m down with it, but you didn’t decide it, not in the way you’re deciding about Derek now. And I’m sorry, but you will listen to me. Can you please just close your mouth for a couple of minutes? Can you do that for me, just once?"

Stiles obediently does as required, overwhelmed by the strong intent in his father’s voice. This is definitely going downhill.

"Of course I appreciate that you decided to tell me about all this, I imagine it was difficult for you and I know it would have been much easier to keep lying to me, but don’t think this will cover up for everything. Even if grateful, I still have the right to have an opinion. I would go as far as to say it’s my duty to have one. And yes, don’t make that face, I will let you talk, but first you will listen to me, because I’m your father and I hope you still respect me enough to go through my points with me. At least you owe me that, to me and to your mother."

He almost regrets those last words, mentioning his wife to force their son to pay attention, to bare his feelings to him. Almost. But he can see Stile’s angry and shocked face now and knows he has realized he cannot go along the edge of this, he has to get into deep water weather he wants it or not.

"Oh, no, no, dad, this is a really cheap blow and you know it. You can’t do this to me. Mom would have never done that."

He surely knows how to backfire. He’s a good player, he cannot deny this to him. He can’t avoid thinking the boy could probably turn to be a good lawyer, so smart and with the skill to kill with words.

"Sorry kid, but I will use all my weapons. I’m allowed to it, it’s my son’s life we’re discussing! And if you’re mature enough to decide that what you want is to sleep with a man six years older than you then you’re mature enough to have this conversation."

Surprisingly, Stiles seems relieved now, his face partly relaxed, almost a smirk there…

"Oh, great, now we’re talking! Ok dad, I’ll listen, but let me first tell you this Derek-Stiles thing is not just about sex, you have to know that before you give me “the” talk, and by the way, I already had that one at school a couple of years ago. You’re a bit late for it… Also, if you want to know, Derek was quite slow with that, really way too careful, shy even, so don’t think I’m being pushed or forced into anything. I started it all and it’s been always the needy Stiles asking for more, if this is not too much information for you…"

The Sheriff is now feeling more depressed than angry, wondering how his life turned this way, when exactly things started to take those twisted dark roads. But he knows when, he knows precisely, has the exact date marked in his brain as the worst day he's had to live until now, when the beautifully drawn line of his life started to tremble and lose intent and direction. He thinks his wife would have known how to talk to Stiles in a different way, without threats, without infuriating him. They are so similar! And how he wishes he could continue that other path with Stiles now, the typical embarrassing sex conversation between a teenager and a parent. Sadly, this is not the case, this is not normal, nothing seems to be  _normal_  anymore in his life. Or in his son’s life… And now that he thinks about it, that word should only be allowed in statistics, it sounds so shitty everywhere else…

"Well, good to hear he’s not racing with this, thanks for the remark, and of course it’s never too much information when it’s about you. But I already know that’s not only sex, of course I know, don’t be silly, son. First of all, it rarely is only about sex, regardless what people say, and second, I’ve seen how you look at each other, I’m not that blind. So, we won’t be talking about sex now, sorry to disappoint you." The Sheriff hisses between his teeth, adding in a low tone: "I hope that was about sex!"

That sounds so sincere that Stiles startles at it, scaring himself. If his father isn’t worried about big bad wolf Derek and little Stiles in bed, then what is this all about?

"No, I want much more for you, I want you to be happy, and I’m afraid it takes much more than sex to grasp that."

Stiles moves the chair a little bit to his right, then further from the table, then he tries to get some balance, almost falling but managing to recover his initial position. He then tries to pull his hair, but half way to it he remembers he just had a cut and stops, not knowing what to do with his hands, letting them fall into his lap finally. He looks so uncomfortable, so young and clearly vulnerable that it hurts the Sheriff having to continue with this. But then Stiles tries to cover his insecurity with anger and irony, making things a bit easier for John to keep pushing him.

"So, why the hell can’t I be happy with Derek, please illuminate me, oh father!"

The Sheriff cannot but instantly reply to that, a bit sharper than he wanted.

"Stiles, this is not the time to be sarcastic, it really is not. So, barriers down, I’m talking very seriously now." To that, Stiles lowers his eyes again, thinking he could almost glimpse a red shadow in his father’s eyes. He can’t help to mutter, mostly to himself "I’m damned, so many alphas around…" He’s thinking if baring his throat would make things easier when his father starts talking again, merciless.

"Son, can you understand rape and murder happening to you at 15, several times?"

Ugh, that was tough, he wasn’t expecting that. These are not words his father would use mindlessly, and Stiles felt them like a punch to his stomach. Of course Stiles knows everything about the fire, how it started, which part Kate played there, how it all ended and how broken Derek is about that part of his life. Not that they discuss it every now and then, but it is there and he is really careful about its implications in their current life. But is it really necessary to go through that now?

"Can you imagine how it is to realize that someone hates you so much, thinks so much of you as an abomination to do this? To plan for it and to act on such a plan, day after day, until throwing the final grenade and killing your whole family? Can you imagine what this does to you? Of course I haven’t talked with Derek after he discovered what Kate really did, but sadly I’ve had long conversations with victims of all ages who have been betrayed, who felt responsible for making really bad decisions, for trusting the wrong person, people with guilt so big they couldn’t raise their faces one single time to look anyone in the eye. At the beginning they try to think that person was crazy, ill, out of their minds, but at the end that’s not enough, you can’t stop looking for reasons, and you start thinking there must be something else. You start considering that maybe you deserved some of that, that maybe you are not so innocent as you think, guilt begins to eat you from inside out, and very slowly you start to become the person you imagine deserving so much hatred. So, can’t you see why I’m frightened you’re there if this ends up happening to Derek? These are very troubled waters and I don’t want you to drown on them."

"I’m not the slightest bit surprised by what has been happening to him lately, all the problems with Peter, the issues with other packs, everything you explained to me. With a past like that, he is bait for trouble. He probably thinks he’s the one to blame and the one to face everything, the one to be sacrificed, and he’s not avoiding anything because he thinks the whole situation would be totally different without his initial contribution. Not that I agree with this, but I can see how things might go for him."

Stiles’ face shows too much now as he cannot but realize part of the truth under his father’s words, but at the same time he starts to regret all the sincerity he was so proud of and begins to think that maybe it would have been better if he had kept his father aside of that part of his life and all the troubles they got into during the last year. If these are the consequences, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be so honest. He feels naïf instead.

The Sheriff now has to stop before continuing hitting him, feeling his son’s pain himself and imagining now even more clearly what that might have been for Derek all these years. But his priorities are still clear, so after a few moments he remembers why he’s doing this and he goes on.

"You know I was there when the fire happened, right? I was a deputy at that time, and I can tell you something, Stiles. In all my years of work… not, in all my life, really, I have never seen anything so horrible, so terrifying, as the Hale fire. You know that the thing I hate the most from my work is to see children suffering, abused children, dead kids… Well, there were five children in the house, Stiles, five. They haunted me for months, I couldn’t stop seeing their charred bodies, their curled little fingers, it still revolves my soul to think about it. Can you imagine what it is to know these are your sisters, your brothers and cousins? We didn’t let Derek or Laura see the bodies, but I’m sure they imagined what was there, why we didn’t let them into the house until it was cleared from all evidences and they surely smelled it all around town. And then, when you’re already destroyed, you discover you have been an instrument to this, that you have been used and dumped in the bin like a broken toy. That you, with your super senses, haven’t been able to detect all the lies, weren’t able to save your family only because you wanted to believe so madly that a pretty face sincerely desired you."

"And then Laura…"

Stiles stops listening now, he just can’t take it anymore. But, like a small miracle, by the stillness of his face it seems his father has stopped talking as well.

Tears follow the only path they know, right down to earth. You can always count on gravity, that’s something to concentrate on, to rely on. Where is this one going to fall? When is this one finally gathering enough weight to leave his face? Stiles doesn’t want to think on the other images, the kids… Tears are better, way better than that. But his father is cruel this afternoon, and now he continues talking like he’s not aware Stiles is crying, and he can’t avoid hearing the words, letting them into his brain.

"Do you really think you can have a normal life after this, that you can make someone happy while you carry all this inside you? Do you want this to be a part of your life, Stiles? Are you telling me you really thought about it and that you believe you can fix this?" The Sheriff’s voice is pained but determined, trained to convince, to highlight a particular line of thought leading to the conclusion he believes is the right one.

And suddenly this is too much for Stiles, he can’t allow his father to continue trying to manipulate him, even if it’s because he wants nothing but the best for Stiles. He has to make it stop. Because this is not fair, he knows it, maybe he can’t explain it as he should right now, but this is not the whole picture, and it’s not accurate either. He’s not a fixer, but he’s strong, stronger than what most people can see, has a determined will and a big hole in his heart shaped like Derek’s own heart, and he knows he can take that. He will follow his instincts with this because they haven’t failed him until now. He wipes his tears away and raises his face to respond to his father.

"Dad, you’re not at work now! Stop treating me like a suspect, I’m being honest here, can’t you see it? Do you think I’m taking this lightly, or that I try to cheat on you? Do you know how hard it was to find the way for Derek to trust me, to let me touch him? How hard it still is sometimes?"

John’s face doesn’t twitch, but softens a little, rounds a tiny bit at the edges.

"Sorry boy, I know I’m being harsh, I know I’m intruding too much into your private life, but now you do understand why I’m more than concerned about you two being together. Right, Stiles? And I maybe even like Derek, I cannot but sympathize with him after all he’s been through and how he is coping with it…"

"Just not with me, right?" Stiles’ interruption is quick and sharp like a dart.

Stiles’ eyes are angry now, disappointed. "Yes, don't think I don't get it, it’s an old excuse for shit. So, you're saying you are really ok with whatever minority you want to pick now as an example, but only if they stay at their houses and don't try to mingle with the rest, and of course if they keep their fucking hands out of your family. But if they can’t comply with these simple rules, then they’re fair game. Derek’s nice but tainted and you want him as far away as possible from me. Dad, you know that’s a nauseating reasoning and that I won’t buy it."

The Sheriff sighs, doesn’t bother denying or responding to it and just continues.

‘Listen, I’m only asking you to think about this, because I’ve seen him with you and I don’t think he’s ever going to let you go if he can help it. He’s a smart guy and he will cling to you for as long as you want him, I can’t blame him for that. And I know you, I know how painfully stubborn you are once you’ve decided on something, how loyal, so I want you to really think about your chances to have a happy life with him before going on with this. Will you do that for me? You’re still 17 and this is your first relationship. Don’t you believe you should take this a bit easier? Just think about it, ok? I know he would let you go if you tell him you can’t continue with this. I’m sure you can still be friends…’

The Sheriff is pleading now, defeated, anger gone, his hands open, palms up.

"Dad…" And Stiles finally feels calm, knows what he wants to say, he only has to let his tongue articulate the thoughts as they come to his brain, and there’s not a hint of a lie in his words.

"Dad, I’ve listened, ok? I’ve listened to you and I understand why you needed to have this conversation, but let me now surprise you with a really brief reply from my side. Only one question, really, instead of a long list of all the reasons why Derek is good for me, the little things I see every day that I carefully store with my most valued memories from you, from mom, from Scott or my friends."

The sun is now sinking in the horizon, just a tiny orange ray left trying to get into the kitchen, offering the mildest possibility of warm to them.

"Just let me ask you this: if that would have happened to me, would you like someone giving me an opportunity to be happy again?"

The Sheriff doesn’t reply to that, only closes his eyes and exhales softly, and Stiles knows everything is said now.

"I’ll think about all you said, but you will also think about this, ok?"

The room has long shadows now, dinner time long passed, but neither of them is really hungry, so they stand up looking exhausted and aim for their respective bedrooms after a brief but quite warm goodnight hug. They both look forward to the comfort of the night.


	2. Scott & Stiles

Stiles is with Scott now at the parking by the school, and they’re silent, leaning on Stiles’ jeep, waiting for the rest of the pack to join them to go to an afternoon training session in the woods, near the Hale house. Scott’s playing with his hoodie, zipper up, zipper down. When he finally starts talking he tries to sound casual but is not really succeeding.

“So, are you ok? You seem kind of tired today.”

Stiles really feels tired, even more now. “What, are you observant now? Is this because you think we’re having some kind of crises? That’s what you’ve been waiting for, right?”

Scott asks with a real question in his eyes: ”We? Who do you mean by  _we_?”

“Oh, common Scott, I’m so fucked, don’t you know I can see it in your frustrated eyes, how you shut your mouth when you see me with Derek, trying to stay calm, to stay put, saying nothing, even trying to seem you’re ok with it? Why is everybody so against this? Did I tell you to stop seeing Allison after we knew her family were hunters?”

Scott’s face is full of doubt now. “Well…”

“Ok, maybe a little bit, but it was more to make you think about it, so you would understand what that would mean, not really thinking you would stop being with her”, Stiles tries to explain.

“He’s dangerous, Stiles.” Scott is saying that like he is not dangerous, as if _he_ couldn’t kill any of his human friends without even trying…

And Stiles is never confessing this to Scott or to Derek either, or to anyone else except to himself really, because he feels weird about it, almost ashamed. But he has noticed it, of course he has, and it’s happened a few times now, enough to mean something, to make him think about the nature of the wolf. Of course, it only happens when they are alone and touching each other, mouth to mouth, skin to skin, hands reaching out to try out their own limits, rubbing hard enough to leave bruises, beyond the gently caresses and the soft kisses they might have started with. Then suddenly Derek stops and stands perfectly still for some moments, muscles tight, eyes closed, face separated a few inches from Stiles’, his mouth open with fangs just insinuating, his breath unbearably hot against his pale skin. Stiles is never sure how long it takes until he moves again, resting his forehead against his chest, his normal self back again, sighing and swallowing as relieved that he has managed again to not get carried along by that primal need of claiming, of owning. 

And when that happens Stiles can’t stop thinking about that scene at the end of Alien when the creature is so intimately close to Sigourney Weaver, to her ear, not touching her but almost, a viscous fluid leaking from its open jaws, waiting... Her face is frightened and she seems to be crying, and he thinks he must be sick because he has always found that image incredibly hot instead of terrifying, and he can’t help seeing it every time Derek has to stop kissing him, almost trembling while he pins his wrists to whatever surface they are leaning against, trying to get hold of himself as if he couldn’t help eating him, damaging him, blood and torn flesh involved, unless he finds the strength to retreat from the animalistic instincts that are trying to gain power against his human will. 

Stiles might have a death wish, because he is never afraid when this happens, he is only supremely excited by it, he’s blissful, and he could come only from that thought…

Of course Scott doesn't need to know that...

“You know he has never hurt me, right? He has never lost control with me, not in trainings, not while fighting with any of these weird creatures, not when he’s angry, when I challenge him or when... you know, when we are together. Not a single time, never, nunca. I’ve never been afraid of him or with him, just exactly the opposite. I feel safe, protected, and also powerful, knowing somehow I’m protecting him as well. Why is this so difficult for everybody to see?” Stiles’ shoulders go down obviously as he leans into the Jeep letting go the air from his lungs, not quite a sigh but close.

He’s not sad, no, he’s only tired, so tired he would skip training this afternoon and just head home to crawl under the covers of his bed, even if that means not seeing Derek today.

Scott looks at his own sneakers like they are about to sprout a fat mouth and start mocking him.

“You can’t deny we’ve seen him lost, disoriented, so angry he almost lost control with us, and you know he’s truly inexperienced for an alpha and what his mistakes have cost to us. What if one day he doesn’t realize what he’s doing and you’re so close he cannot stop himself before killing you, even if it’s an accident?”

“I can’t tell you this is not going to happen, I just say I don’t think it will happen” he simply counters back.

“If this is enough for you…” Scott says with resignation.

“Scott, do you remember the day we found out about Erica and Boyd? If I close my eyes I can clearly see Derek’s transformation: his eyes, long teeth, his claws ready to tear apart and destroy, I can hear the roars and feel the anger rolling in waves from his body. That’s the one day I thought he was just going to crash into town trying to find their scent and save them at any cost, blindly breaking and killing whatever would cross his path to realize later that it was only a student going back home after having dinner with his girlfriend. But he didn’t do it. Do you remember why?”

“Of course I remember, I saw it from my corner of the room. I was absolutely terrified. As Isaac was. You were the only one who didn’t try to hide the moment he started changing to his full alpha form. I guess it’s because you’re not a werewolf, you don’t feel the physical pull to submit to your alpha. I hate that, you know it, it's weird and unnatural, even more when I'm not accepting that particular alpha.... Or wait, maybe it's just too natural... Anyway, that day I wished I was dead, I felt his roars inside my gut tearing from inside out, and this is not a nice feeling, definitely not one I would recommend.”

Thinking for a moment about the irrationality of Scott's issues with Derek, Stiles almost whispers, “Dude, you whined all the time”.

Scott seems bewildered, as if he can’t remember it or thinks Stiles is clearly exaggerating. “Did I? Really?”

Stiles is openly giggling now. “Yeah, I’ll repeat it for you: All. The. Time.”

Scott looks further now, towards the end of the parking, eyes full with images that have nothing to do with the harmless rows of cars, fear an unwelcomed old friend visiting his mind and his guts again. He remembers Stiles getting close to a wild Derek, a raged animal with bared fangs, strong claws and profound roars, eyes red and unfocused, any trace of the human deeply buried, lost, only a real wolf there, a black enormous shape with red eyes, an unreal image even for Scott after all they had been experiencing since that all started. And he sees Stiles approaching the salivating animal, step by step, slowly but decidedly, softly whispering Derek’s name.

When he returns to the present moment and finds his words again he discovers he’s stuttering. “I, I’m sorry I was too terrified to go and stop you, I swear I wasn’t able to move a hair.”

And he shivers when he remembers Stiles letting himself fall limp in front of Derek’s clawed paws so that he couldn’t ignore him, couldn’t help but to smell the exposed vulnerability. “I was sure you were mad, suicidal.” And the images change now, Stiles going even crazier by exposing his neck to the wolf so that he could sense the bared submission, forcing him to return to some kind of human consciousness and decide what to do with that distraction, that creature who was offering himself as prey with no apparent reason. And when the wolf lowered his snout to sniff Stiles’ throat, his mouth open showing all his white teeth, Scott had to shut his eyes, had to seal his eyelids because he was unable to see his best friend dying that way.

Until he heard the tiny sounds the animal’s tongue was making while he was licking Stiles’ cheeks, his nose, his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Derek was quietly whimpering while slowly returning to his human form.

“That’s probably the silliest, stupidest thing you have ever done in your life, including dragging me to the woods to see if we could find that missing half corpse.”

Stiles’ eyes are lost now as well as Scott’s.

“But it worked”, he says softly.

Scott winks and winces. “Yeah, it definitely worked, he suddenly went back being a soft little fuzzy puppy. Like if he ever was! So, you took a great risk and you managed to survive, against all probabilities. That doesn’t mean it was a great idea, one you should repeat.”

Stiles is smiling now, a soft and little smile, a bit sad maybe. “I’m sure he was, once. A little puppy, I mean”

Scott shakes his head in disbelief to that. “I don’t know, Stiles, I’m starting to think you have special lenses in your eyes that make you see a Derek nobody else can see.” 

Stiles looks down now, but he's definitely not blushing. “You know how they call this, man? Being in love, I think...”

A sigh escapes Scott's mouth involuntarily. ”So, then, I get now you’re not having a crisis, right? Everything’s still shining in paradise…”

Stiles hesitates, reluctant to think again about the discussion with his father. “No, not really, but it’s only my dad being kind of… worried, a lot like you are. Well no, sorry, he was far more terrifying than you, I even thought he would make a good alpha.”

And Scott is laughing sincerely now, louder than he wants, imagining the Sheriff as a big alpha wolf with red eyes in uniform and a police hat, a pack of officers running under his orders.

He smothers the giggles before continuing with a more serious line of thought. “I can’t blame the Sheriff, sorry, I still don’t get why you started all this, but I guess it’s because I can’t feel Derek’ sex-appeal...”

But Stiles does, oh man, he does! He noticed it almost immediately, and not only how insanely attractive Derek was. If he thinks about it, that probably came later. The first thing he recognized was the way he relaxed into the safeness he felt every time he was with Derek. And then, something much more subtle and difficult to define, he sensed the desperate need Derek had for someone saving him from himself, to listen to him and to talk to him, someone who would dare to loudly disagree with him and confront him. Someone who would stay. And somehow Stiles understood that he could be that person, that they completed each other in a strange and profound way, and he decided he would fight for that, patiently but fiercely.

Scott’s words seem to come from a faraway place, slowly reaching some meaning… “And ok, even if I’m not attracted to guys I can see he's strong and handsome, of course I give you that, but dude, he’s weird, I can’t imagine what you two talk about when you are alone”

“Sometimes we talk about you, Scottie”, says Stiles now openly grinning.

“Shit”, Scott replies, not as happy as Stiles is about the answer.

“Yeah, shit”, he echoes dreamily. Yes, that’s one of the reasons why he pushed for that, maybe the most important one. Because Derek never spits the shit he is forced to swallow, never turns his face away from pain, always goes straight to hell if that’s the right thing to do. Even if Stiles’ father thinks this is to compensate the guilt he has insight, he still is the bravest person Stiles knows and he loves him for that and wants to be as close to him as he can. Stiles has used denial so many times, for so long, that he cannot but admire the person who does exactly the opposite and still survives it. Now he only has to find the way for Derek to deal with nice things as bravely as he does with the bad and ugly…

Stiles saw all that pretty quickly after they met, but it took him a while to dare approaching Derek with his true feelings showing in his open hands. He let things take their time while trying to reduce the distance between them inch by inch, word by word, until it felt ok to spend time alone together or to brush their arms while preparing pack dinner or seating in Derek’s sofa. And once it was spontaneous and natural if sometimes Stiles would stay after training or pack meetings to investigate something or to discuss plans with Derek, then it was also comfortable enough for them to order pizza and simply watch a movie in companionable silence after it.

He can still feel the overwhelming sensations of that first night when he mustered the courage to go beyond that and risk his little triumphs, when he steeled himself enough to face the reject he dreaded in case it came. Because he was counting on the worst option, of course, that’s just the way he is. But he wasn’t able to continue like that, he had to try one more movement, had to be sincere and survive whatever would come after.

He will never forget anything that went on during those few hours that night, uneventful as they would have seemed for anyone looking at them from outside the window. But to him, his life was changed forever after.

He went to Derek’s place after school to show him some research he completed that morning before leaving home, and after a few hours discussing possible scenarios they were both tired and wanted nothing else than relax with a movie or a game, so Derek suggested ordering Japanese and watching a classic 80’s, Blade Runner, one of his favorites. Stiles called home and when his dad asked if he was staying for the night he had a strange sensation curling around his stomach and just said “yes, probably, if it’s ok for you”, sure that Derek had heard the entire quick conversation. When he hung up he felt suddenly nervous, but discarded the feeling and moved to the kitchen to start preparing for the dinner and movie plan, talking lightly about the film’s special effects, the music, if Derek remembered Deckard’s ex-wife called him ‘Sushi’ and any other stupid details that came to his mind, until the routine calmed him and he let himself enjoying what he already had, blocking any thoughts about other warmer possibilities.

The evening went well if only quite silent, and when they moved upstairs to go to bed, Stiles went to one of the spare rooms automatically, grabbing one of Derek’s shirts from his drawer to use it as a pajama. But once he was alone in the spare bed of an empty room he started thinking about when he would have another opportunity like this one. So, feeling his hands getting colder by every step that led him to Derek’s room, he silently opened the door and kept walking until his shin touched the bed, where Derek’s shirtless silhouette was clearly visible under the moonlight.

He didn’t speak, just moved closer and sit there, vigilant of Derek’s shinning eyes. Very slowly, not even breathing, he softly placed a hand on Derek’s round shoulder and let it there, immobile, feeling the warm, surprisingly silky skin, and the firm muscles under it. After a few seconds that seemed long minutes he ventured moving his fingers really slowly, letting them caress just as they craved to do. Derek didn't move at the beginning, but after a while he raised himself and sit on the bed, side by side with Stiles, calm and still, letting him touch as he wanted, experimenting him: how his stubble felt under his short nails, how soft his hair was, the way his back arched, allowing his fingers to draw his spine, sinuously rounding each vertebrae, applying small pressures to sense the bones under the flesh. Eventually, he let his lips press very light kisses to Derek’s smooth back, following the black lines of his tattoo with his nose, sniffing Derek’s musky smell, brushing his shoulders with dry and warm lips only, almost chastely, keeping tongue and teeth tamely to himself. He even kissed his chest once or twice, but never his neck, no there, not yet.

All his senses were fully awake, and he felt careful, delicate, sensitive and precise, as if he was cable walking above a wild distant river. Derek didn't move, didn't say anything, didn't encourage his feathery kisses or even react, but neither moved away or told Stiles to go, so he just continued. After a few minutes, though, Derek motioned Stiles to the bed with one of his big warm hands, placing him by his side but not fully touching him; only their legs were in contact and the hand he had used to push him was now heavy on his hip. Stiles stilled, not daring to do anything else or say a word, not sensing rejection but unsure about the rightness of his acts, wondering if he would later regret them or not. He felt electricity through the skin of his back and although he thought he wouldn't be able to sleep for more than five minutes that night, he finally managed to relax with Derek’s regular breathing on his neck and the soothing heat coming from his body.

Suddenly he opened his eyes to the morning light, feeling Derek completely plastered to his back, one arm across his chest, a possessive hand pressing his shoulder, legs comfortably entwined. Stiles then felt his heart racing, his breath troubled, his stomach clenching, afraid he was implying too much from the probably involuntary contact.

And as if he could hear those thoughts, Derek then moved and took his head with his strong hands, turning it towards his own face to kiss him without hesitation. A full, sure, passionate kiss that cleared all doubts from Stiles’s mind.

They kissed a lot that morning, letting their bodies relax into one another, gently, without bruises, scratches or bites, just touching, watching, smelling and tasting, discovering how their mouths, hands and fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, clear intentions and feelings. Urgencies would come later, usually with a fight between Derek’s boundaries and Stiles little tricks always trying to get more, but that morning they just lingered on each other as much as they needed. Then they talked a little, laughed a little and kissed some more before Stiles went back home to have lunch with his father, trying to disguise the involuntary grin he kept seeing in the rear mirror while he was driving his Jeep.

Stiles was surprised by how natural and free that had been and how smoothly their relationship developed after that night, although he couldn't but bitterly realize it was always easier when they were alone, and not so much when Scott or the rest of the pack were around.

After almost a year he still feels this way.


	3. John & Derek

The grocery store. Of course, there he is. If you want to bump into someone 'by chance' in Beacon Hills, you just go to the big, central grocery store a few times during a week and eventually you will run into the person. It’s just a probabilistic exercise.

He can see now Derek moving around the different sections, determined when he’s approaching a certain area, slow when deciding what to pick, seriously considering each choice, reading labels and changing brands. He wonders if Stiles has anything to do with that, if he’s also criticizing Derek’s fridge as he does at home after John has gone shopping. He hopes so. It’s an unnerving habit, but he knows he will miss it as hell if one day he can buy all the fat burgers in the world without hearing one single complaint from Stiles. The thought hits him without warning, and even if it seems excessive it’s still true. He doesn’t want to lose his kid. At all. In any way.

He moves closer to the young man.

"Hey Derek, how are you?"

Derek stiffs when he hears John’s voice, but tries to reply naturally. "Sheriff. Erh, good, thanks. You?"

"Not too bad. So, would you mind if we have a word or two?" he replies, directly enough.

If Derek is surprised he is able to disguise it quite well. "No, of course not."

After a pause he continues. "…You mean, now?"

The Sheriff sounds professional when he keeps talking, and Derek almost expects a formal accusation, but what comes out is a bit friendlier. A bit… "Yes please, if you are finished here and have some time now you could follow me and… But, what I’m saying, you know the way to my house very well, don’t you? Let’s not pretend you don’t, please. So, don’t follow my car, let’s just meet there in a while, ok? Anyway, I can invite you to a beer, right? Is that ok for you? I work the night shift today, so this afternoon I’m free, and Stiles won’t be home for a couple of hours yet."

There’s no easy way out, so he just accepts his fate, as he always does. "Ok, I will stop at my apartment to drop this and I can be at your place in twenty"

"Good, I’ll see you there then". The Sheriff seems satisfied and ready to let him go.

"Bye"

They both like to economize words and hate wasting time, so the entire conversation takes about half a minute.

The Sheriff goes back to the parking lot without buying anything and heads directly home. When he gets there he stops one moment at the door because he can’t remember driving there, and he’s so surprised that he even goes back to his car to touch the hood and check if it’s warm or not.

At home, he allows himself a drink and seats, waiting for his son’s boyfriend while he thinks about what he wants to hear himself saying, and, most important, what he does not want to say.

He remembers now Stiles leaving this morning with his red hoodie and he is suddenly thinking about that time when he was six years old and the three of them went to the mall for a Saturday morning shopping. School was about to start and Stiles had grown up quite a lot that summer, so they had to prepare and buy all kind of underwear, pants, t-shirts, etc, as half of the families from Beacon Hills were doing that day. They went from one area to the other, selecting the items that were nice but not expensive, the ones that looked strong enough to survive Stiles’ ADHD for at least a couple of months. When Stiles saw a plain red bright sweatshirt he felt in love with it immediately, grabbed it and put it in his mom’s arms in a wink. They both shared a look, but had him trying it just to show him that it wasn’t the best color choice. With his pale skin and weedy arms that red color didn’t look good, he seemed kind of sick really, very noticeable but definitely sick. So, they told him, softly, kindly,  nicely, patiently, then firmly and finally angrily, until it became a tour de force over a silly disagreement and the final test for their parenting skills. They offered him a nice navy one, a stripped one, a very expensive one, sweaters with Batman designs, Spiderman or just any other one in the shop. And of course it ended up in an embarrassing tantrum in front of many people they knew, tears and snot in Stiles’ face, angry brows on them and a rushed trip back home without the red sweatshirt and only half the other things they still needed. And, which is Stiles’ favorite color now? Red, of course, the brighter the better… So, he knows that trying to convince him against something he really wants can be counterproductive, to say it nicely. A shot in your face, really.

He comes back to the present when the doorbell rings, and when the Sheriff opens Derek is standing there, resignation and acceptance personified.

"Come on in and take a seat. Do you want a beer or anything else?"

"Yes, thanks, beer is ok." Derek then seats down at the sofa, remembering the last time he was there, a quiet and easy night when they cooked some pasta and then watched a movie while the Sheriff was working. Stiles had fallen asleep before the movie was finished and he had carried him upstairs to his bed and stayed with him, kissing him softly, until he heard the patrol car parking outside. So domestic and comfortable, so precious, so far away...

Since it seems to work for them, the Sheriff goes straight to the point. "Look Derek, I see you came here to withstand what I have to say and then leave and try to ignore it but…"

Derek cuts him sharply. "I won’t stop seeing Stiles if you ask me to, but I will if you convince him to tell me so."

"I guessed that, yes. But that’s not why I asked you to come here."

"No?"

"No, I want to talk, and that means I expect answers, you know, actual communication. I know you’re not good at that, and I’m not either, so let me be clear. I don’t like this, but I don’t want Stiles to go away. I have seen this happening to so many families I can’t count them. Disagreements, stubbornness, little things and other not so small issues that are never discussed, never solved, that only get buried and piled one on top of the other until it’s impossible to see through them anymore. Then there’s college, a job in another state or any other excuse, and suddenly they only see each other once or twice a year and feel ok with a couple of phone calls each month. Solitude. Coldness. I don’t want this."

He doesn't seem to be waiting for a comment on that, so Derek doesn't speak, and after gulping some more whiskey the Sheriff goes on.

"It wasn’t easy to raise him, you know? Well, I’m sure you can guess, since you have become so close to him. If he’s that annoying at seventeen, can you imagine the way he was at five? Or at eleven, after losing his mother? In a matter of days he no longer was the smart-mouth you met. He didn’t complain, he didn’t ask, he didn’t play, he didn’t cry. Of course, he never laughed. Anything, for long months. He was a kind of robot. And I couldn’t mourn her as I needed because I was so worried about him, trying to find a way to crack that iron surface, changing from one therapy to another, talking with other parents who had suffered similar situations, drinking at night when he was finally asleep."

"And you know what broke that? My blood tests. One day he found the results of the yearly checks we do at work in the table and went crazy worried about it. He started to research healthy diets, how to prevent high cholesterol, whatever could help my heart to be in good shape. He printed a different one every few weeks and pinned it to the fridge, bought everything, even if it had to be online, learned to cook it. And I think he found out that stress and worry were also risk factors, so he knew he was causing it and decided he had to change his attitude and try to go back to his previous self, or something similar. Because she will always be with us, but in a different way, and neither of us can go back to whom we were before, but that was still acceptable. And I was so sincerely happy and relieved to finally see a change in him that I followed all the stupid diets he suggested and have been eating crap for years. I even like some by now…"

John is now lost in his past, drinking slowly, opening his heart to someone he intended to try to send away. But instead of that, he finds an unexpected comfort talking to Derek because he knows he’s probably the only person in the world who cares about Stiles as much as he does. Almost. And it scares him to realize he wouldn’t explain this to anyone else. But they’re not friends. Finding a gold ring on the street doesn’t mean you can wear it and become a married person. But he can pretend for a while. And who knows, maybe the answers will come from himself after all.

"So, Stiles and I have been pretty close until now, and, you know, that’s what keeps me alive. I was really scared a year and a half ago when I saw our relationship change, all his excuses, his lies, the pain in his eyes when he saw I wasn’t believing him but that I wasn’t challenging him anyway. I tried to find evidences of anything that would explain it: drug abuse, bullying at school, sex problems, whatever. But I couldn’t find anything, not a joint, not a condom, I couldn’t smell alcohol, his grades were ok. He only had a bunch of new friends, a lot of homework to be done at Scott’s, and you, of course, he couldn’t seem to stop talking about you, in a bad or good sense, but always you there. So, it wasn’t that difficult to put two and two together and relate the recent changes to that new acquaintance my son had. Hopefully for you, before I jumped into too many conclusions Stiles decided to explain the whole supernatural situation, and then I understood many thinks, but not all. The thing is that I was so afraid of all the physical threats and real dangers he was facing that I couldn’t worry too much about it. But I knew there was one piece missing, and things finally made sense when last month he told me you too were together. My underage son was dating Derek Hale."

He turns his face now to lock his eyes with Derek’s.

"And you must be wondering now why I’m not a happy father seeing his only child paired with an older, murder accused, without a job, dangerous werewolf, right?"

Wisely, Derek doesn’t reply or move his eyes. He doesn’t even blink.

"Well, the keyword there was “dangerous”. Because being with you he is meant to be affronting situations that are clearly beyond his physical possibilities. And you might try to protect him, but there will be one day when you don’t get early enough to him, or there is a mistake or anything else, and then what?"

"Also, I want to be as honest with you as I was with him. Your past. This is dangerous in another wholly different perspective. I know that in your short life you have had to face what fifty people together don’t in their whole life, and that’s not fair. But…, and believe me, I know I’m really cruel here..., I’m more worried about Stiles than I’m sorry for you…, and I seriously question if you are equipped at all to be in a healthy relationship anymore."

"Are you?"

With a big effort, Derek forces himself not to react viscerally to the Sheriff’s previous words and quickly decides raw sincerity is the best option, so he swallows hard and goes for it. "Sheriff, honestly, I don’t know it, I can’t guarantee we’ll be happy forever after, but I think we deserve to have the chance to try."

He elaborates a bit more, feeling he’s trying to walk through a swamp. He talks slowly.

"You know, I forced myself for long months to forget about Stiles in that way, to keep him as a good friend only. Being always careful not to encourage any closer approach, any warm feelings, despite it was clear for everyone that we both wanted it. And why? Because I was asking myself those same questions without finding a good answer to them. And you know what made me change my mind? Stiles. Because, honestly, I don’t think I could endure a relationship with anyone else. You’re right, I’m damaged. I’m working on it but I’m still shredded. I have nightmares almost every night, I’m scared shitless at many things even if I try to disguise it with angry faces, I am socially inept…"

At the end, he has to use Stiles’ words. He’s so pathetic…

"And when I told him that, you know what he said? “I know you’re broken, but all the pieces are there, no one is missing. So we’ll work together to sew them, and maybe the result is very different from the way you were before the fire, but it will be you anyway, and it’ll be our work.” And I’m human, partly at least, so I want this, I won’t deny I desperately want it."

Derek seems really young now, and the Sheriff remembers he’s only twenty-three, that he should be fresh from college, trying to find a good job, planning his life, thinking about all the options open in front of him with the support of a big, loving family. Instead of that, he has lost everything, has nobody except a too-smart-for-his-own-good boy, a few pseudo-friends who give him only worries and responsibilities and the father of the said boy who is trying to get rid of him. What the hell is happening to this world when these kids are thrown face first into this kind of nightmares?

And then he realizes that if he keeps hoping for the worst, only the worst will come.

He’s processing that when he notices Derek is still talking.

"I understand that you don’t trust me, but I think you should trust your son. I trust him, I learnt to do this almost blindly, because things always turn better when I do it."

The Sheriff is about to reply to that, but the words die in his mouth when he sees Derek’s expression suddenly changing, his eyes going red, pointed, focusing on something only he can hear or feel.

Derek’s face is pale, all the blood is drained from his lips. He can see the Sheriff’s mouth moving but he can’t hear a word he’s saying.

"Derek, what’s going on?"

Trapped, Stiles is trapped. He knows it as he knows the Hale house is a burned empty shell. He closes his eyes and sees his little sister trapped in the basement, coughing, the temperature rising… He can’t, he just can’t let that happen again, he won't accept it. If Stiles is dying there, wherever that “there” is, he will let death take him as well. This time he won’t agree to be the survivor, not again. He’s paralyzed, he feels the world crumbling down and doesn’t know how to start breathing again. He slowly thinks he’s a worthless idiot because he’s planning what he’s going to do if Stiles dies instead of trying to do something to save him. But he feels his limbs as foreign, owned by someone called panic.

Only one or two seconds have passed.

"Derek!"

The Sheriff’s voice cracks the surface of the bubble that has abducted him for what seems like an unbearable amount of time. 

"Stiles, it’s Stiles, he’s in danger, I can feel it, I have to go." He can breath again, can talk again, is already starting to move, to run.

John is not questioning how he knows, he's only reacting to an urgent threat. "Where, where is he? Wait, I go with you!"

Derek stops without really wanting to, his hands pressing hard the table to prevent himself to keep running.

"No, I can’t take a car, I don’t know where he is, I have to follow my instincts, let my senses guide me until I find him. Sorry, I’m sorry, I just have to run. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. Call Scott."

He is about to vanish, but he turns his head to the shocked Sheriff one last time, locks his eyes on John’s and says, so soft it’s barely a whisper: "Trust me, please."

John’s defeated.

Derek’s running now, running for his life, disoriented at the beginning but sensing a direction as he moves, listening to the pain in his chest, feeling the ring in his ears growing as he gets closer to the main road coming from the school. He approaches it and can now distinguish some trouble there, cars closer than they should be. He can smell the ugly scent of burned tires, and smoke, smoke as it’s ever present in his dreams, the poison that turns them into nightmares.

When he gets by the area, the police are already there and he can hear distant sirens approaching, probably more ambulances and fire trucks. Somewhere in his head a thought says that Stiles’ father will probably be aware about this very soon, might be already coming.

Today’s fog is so thick that he can’t clearly distinguish what’s happening, but the pavement is slippery, so that’s one of these awful chain car crashes, with lots of vehicles mounting into one another. Stiles heart rate is difficult to locate among the people there, all of them reeking fear and nerves, some crying, police officers yelling instructions, trying to move the cars that are ok from the area, convincing some other people to stop being idiots and leave the broken machines and get away from the dangerous fire as fast as they can.

He panics for a while when he can’t place Stiles’ heartbeat, but then he finally picks it, crazy fast and irregular, but close, not a real sound but a call, a physical pull that gets clearer by every second. He tries to keep unnoticed, moving outside of the worst area and approaching the place where Stile’s pulse feels stronger. Evil as it is, at least the fog helps him to advance without anybody paying attention to him. And he can now see the Jeep, separated to the main area where the accident started and where everybody is working now.

The Jeep was probably hit by a big expensive van that he vaguely notices there and that is quite ok. But the Jeep took the worst part of it and now it’s not the way a car should be. It probably rolled over a few times before stopping, and one side of it is on the road and the shape is no right, is no longer square. Two wheels move on the air like perplexed paws, the blue paint is scratched everywhere, the ceiling lower than it normally is, the windows are all broken and the metal is twisted in strange ways, leaving a painfully small space inside the vehicle, a torture cell where he thinks he can see some red clothes unsuccessfully trying to get out of the car.

Stiles


	4. Kate

SIX MONTHS AGO...

They are drinking a soda in an almost deserted cafe outside of town, and Stiles is amazed and slightly pissed off that Derek wanted to come here of all places in a Saturday evening instead of staying at Derek’s apartment happily making out or at least going to the movies or… just spending time at whatever any other place that is not this cold and depressing hole. While he sips his drink he starts to drift off wondering how it even resists the economic situation, because it doesn’t seem probable that it bursts with activity during the week days either…

"Stiles…"

Derek’s hushed and low, heavy with worry voice makes him come back from solving the country’s problems about unemployment and big chain brands versus local small commercial activity. The dark haired boy seems really worried about something and Stiles doesn’t need an enhanced sense of smell to see he’s even slightly panicked. Realizing Derek has been even quieter than usual this afternoon, he feels his heart rate spiking and sweat covering the palms of his hands. He's not dumping him, right? He would have noticed something... Or not. Oh, dammit!

Derek inhales profoundly before talking.

"I have something to tell you, something I want you to know, although talking about it makes me feel my guts are made of cold mercury... slowly melting inside my body."

Boy, that’s an image! If the situation wasn’t so tense Stiles would have commented the sickly poetry of it and how did Derek come up with something like this. But he doesn’t want him to feel this way, and absolutely never because of him, even if it's because, because...

"Are you leaving me, Derek?"

"What? No, are you stupid? Of course I'm not breaking up with you! On the contrary, I... I really care about you and that's why I want to talk with you about something. Do _you_ have doubts about us?"

Of course... he just loves when words become fucking boomerangs!

"No, no, I don't have any doubts, I'm happy as a jingle bell, or I was until today at least... But, you can't deny this is strange, coming here, your face... It's the perfect scenario for a break up! So I was only being logic! Ok, good, I got it, I'm a hysterical teenager, can you go on now that this is established?"

Derek looks at him, rolls his eyes and sighs, still not talking.

"Ok, wait, you don’t have to explain anything, Derek, don’t feel like you owe me something or that I need to know everything about you, because I don’t. And you can relax, because I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to, despite of what I can find out about you. Don’t think you have any obligations to explain something that is so obviously painful for you, because you haven't."

But Derek is an obstinate thick log sometimes, and he knows his efforts won’t pay off no matter how hard he tries.

"No, don’t think I do this for you, no... I... I do it because it’s a part of my life that I never ever talk about although I know some people know it, your father one of them because Chris told him, and I want you to hear it from my lips, because I couldn’t stand it if someone else finally explains it to you, I would know the instant you knew it and it would be so awful to imagine someone else revealing that to you, I would feel so coward and filthy that I prefer to talk now no matter how difficult it is."

He’s chaining words so closely that he’s barely breathing, and he doesn’t give Stiles a chance to say anything else before he continues.

"Please, I know you won’t like this, but, _please_ , don’t touch me while I’m talking, don’t try to meet my eyes, don’t interrupt me or I won’t be able to go on."

Stiles stills in his seat and kind of understands now why they are where they are, in a public place where they have to keep a relatively decent distance between them, solitaire enough so that no one else, human or werewolf, will hear them while they talk.

Derek takes a few moments to imagine he is somewhere else now, in a closed room with white walls and no windows, no one there with him, where he can talk almost without feeling the weight and danger of the dark words he is spitting like they’re made of venomous gas.

"I met Kate Argent a couple of months after I turned fifteen, one after the big party my parents held for their twentieth wedding anniversary…"

Some minutes have passed after Derek has finished talking, his eyes still lost, frozen in an indefinite point on the dirty green wall in front of him, and Stiles is yet unsure about the best reaction now, if he should go to Derek’ side of the booth to hug him tightly or stay where he is and ask questions about what he just heard or just start touching his hand softly without saying anything at all. Anyway, if he keeps thinking at the end the only option will be to quickly rush to the bathroom to throw up while he wishes this unbearable wrath had reached him the only time he saw Kate alive so that he could have helped Peter killing her.

Finally it is Derek who sighs and with an effort focuses his eyes in Stiles again, softly kissing his temple across the table and taking his hand to hold both of them up together.


	5. Stiles

He hates being trapped, hates the impossibility to move, hates how his nerves escalate until he can’t breathe or think coherently. He tries to calm down, but this is just not possible, he’s an idiot to even try, he’s going to lose control any minute now and go crazy until he dies here, burned, smashed or suffocated by the smoke. This is so claustrophobic and he is so disoriented in time and space that he could vomit if his stomach wasn’t totally closed. He’s not sure how much time has passed since he heard the squealing noise and tried to stop his car, if he passed out for a while or not or in which position he exactly is. He can hear the cries, the shouts, feels the broken glass cutting his back, the cold steel bracing and numbing his leg, cruelly breaking the skin, the pressure in one shoulder. And he has learnt enough from movies, TV or his father rambling about work at home to know that this is extremely dangerous, that this can be a hell on earth in a few minutes if the gas in one of the cars ignites. He has to get the hell out of here and just start running as fast as his legs allow him and get as far as possible from this. But when he tries to move this suddenly seems as feasible as an hippogriff coming down the sky to liberate him and to pick him up to move him to a safe place. But hey, werewolves… This could be a nice hope and a fun image if it wasn’t about to end in a full panic attack so soon… Only that he cannot indulge himself to a panic attack now, it seems a luxury at that precise moment and he is crying because of the sadness of that thought.

He’s simply terrified. He doesn’t want to die this way. He doesn’t want to die. Full stop. But he doesn’t want to go this way also. He doesn’t want fire to be involved with his death in any possible way, it’s just too horrible, too painful, too twisted and anyway, there’s so much he still has to say, too many places to go, so many people to get to know, to hate, to ignore or to love and he couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t have the opportunity to do those things. How can this be it? After all they have been through it’s a fucking car accident what is going to finish him? Such a cruel irony! He just can’t believe it, can’t let this happen. It’s not fair, it’s… Well, that’s probably what everybody who can see their own death coming would think, right? But he doesn’t know what to do now, how to get out of this trap that his lovely Jeep has become.

His eyes feel strange, too big, burning and watered from the smoke, the strong smells and the tension. His nose is running but his mouth is coated and dry, his throat tight. He knows he should try to focus on getting the hell of out here instead of pitying himself. But how? He can’t move his damned leg. Fuck! He just can’t, it’s totally immobilized, it’s like if a damned rocky mountain is on top of it from knee to ankle and there’s no way he can set it free. He needs help, but his phone is out of view, is probably anywhere out of reach now. He has been yelling and his throat is sore, but the fireman who came is gone now, hopefully coming back with more powerful tools this time. He just hopes it’s not too late when or if he ever comes back… And why he didn’t want to take the bite, again? Stubborn, so-stupid-he-thinks-he’s-smart Stiles! It would be so different, so easy now! He could be saving people instead of being one to be saved, a body to be recovered from the burning steel mass of his car, to be identified... People crying at his funeral. Shit, tones of shit, that crap is not useful now! He’s inside a vicious circle, too clever to keep dwelling on the situation but too imaginative to not to. He has to cool down, just a little bit, enough to think and try to come up with a plan, anything that can get him out of this nightmare.

So his first thought goes to his father, obviously. He has to do this for him, has to get the fuck out of here because he just can’t leave him alone. His dad has been able to put up with many hard situations in his life, always trying to be strong, trying to be fair, to do good even when he felt betrayed by life, by a world he believed was predictable and understandable or by his own son. But Stiles knows this will be too much, this will destroy him and his last resource is going to be that bottle hidden inside a drawer in his desk. If he dies he knows his father won’t be able to climb out of that bottle again… Stiles believes he should have a better relationship with his father and when he realizes he will probably never see him again, won’t have the opportunity to explain things a bit better, to hug him again, he feels guilty and desperate, drowned in panic and sadness. He then forces himself to stop these thoughts before they keep spiraling down because they make everything worst, they make him weak and defeated and he doesn’t want these to be his last feelings at all.

Then he thinks about Derek and is relieved for one second because he calms down immediately, feels his brow relaxing and stops swearing so much. He tries to keep that feeling and closes his eyes despite the urgency of the moment. With some effort he can manage to shut down the current chaos and see only images of the two of them together, alone. He remembers those moments when they don’t have to pretend to be a strong alpha, a cool and controlled partner, a smart friend or the always resourceful human, only Stiles and Derek sharing insecurities, desire, fear, laugh or love. No past or future, only the moment they share. When they are alone he can almost see Derek peeling himself until he’s naked in the only way that’s important. No memories, no hopes, no losses or regrets. Bared and exposed, raw but not vulnerable. Every time they’re together they grow stronger at their core, and this is what he needs to find now. His core, his strength.

He keeps his eyes closed and travels in time to that one night, only a few weeks ago, when they were together in Derek’s apartment, how they had sex… well, shit, if he’s dying he’s allowed to be sappy and totally uncool so…, how they made love until they both fall sleep, sated and exhausted, into each other’s arms.

He had finally found the way to convince Derek that they could go as far as they wished, that he wanted everything from him because he didn’t regret a single minute they had shared, he only wanted more of that and they both deserved to be together, to be happy in any way they could imagine. He just wasn’t able to keep any reserve anymore. And after a kiss as his only answer, Derek was finally knocking down his carefully own built defenses, taking him to his bedroom upstairs without taking his eyes out of his face, carefully undressing him after placing him on the bed.

Stiles felt his skin crawling, the muscles in the back of his neck tensing, his pupils contracting, because he wanted that, had begged for it, but was frightened to the bone as well. Of course he didn’t think about himself as a virgin anymore, after all the fantastic sex they’ve had during the last months. They had been experimenting a lot since that first morning but had never gone further than kissing and touching and licking and sucking every part of their bodies, mainly because Derek was quite insistent on gong slow but also because Stiles was learning and enjoying too much to pretend he was already bored and needed more excitement. Penetration was just one more thing, not necessarily the best, but was something they hadn’t done yet and topics and culture and education and society rules and codes still have some weight, so this felt like some kind of milestone for him even if he wanted to be cool and pretend it was just another thing that he wanted to try. But, what if it didn’t work, or if he couldn't bear the pain? He was inexperienced and weak and lanky and had almost no control over his body, so he was scared he would disappoint Derek and make their first time at that a complete disaster. Could that spoil it all? There was still plenty of room for failure, and Derek seemed so confident whenever his body was involved, even if he didn’t have that much sex experience either…

But then Derek’s soft hands started to move without restrains all around his body, caressing everywhere, pressing, teasing, taking time with every parch of skin, building up the emotion, the desire to melt into each other, and he forgot all his fears as he discovered the sudden need to lose himself inside of Derek's arms. Derek was kissing his mouth like nothing else in the word would ever matter again, and that was enough to soften the spikes in his brain, now drunk from the lack of oxygen and the excess of dopamine. Definitely the best he could do was to try to relax and let himself go, ride the lust of the moment and enjoy what was offered there, letting his feelings drive and searching what seemed to bring Derek to the edge. Derek’s mouth was soft and warm and wet and a bit overwhelming, just like his whole body felt on top of him, lips moving from his mouth to his ear to his nipple to his navel, leaving incandescent railroads on its way from one excited corner of Stiles’ body to another. His tongue wiped out and sealed any doubts he could still have about them, his insecurities about the two of them together, about their improbability, about his young shaky self.

Stiles didn’t utter a word for a long while, although the sounds his throat produced were far more expressive than any complex sentences he could ever compose. For a guy that could ramble about anything with anyone during any length of time, he was surprisingly able to stay silent when the situation required it. And that was definitely the case then. He had a much better use for his tongue than articulating words at that moment and all his attention was focused on his other senses: the touch, the smell, the noise, the unique tastes of the mixed fluids their two bodies created.

So when Derek moved his hands to his ass, looking at him as asking for permit, he just nodded, letting his head fall back, trying to relax after the initial tension that involuntarily took over the lower parts of his body. Noticing that, Derek carefully rolled him into his stomach and started massaging him, his shoulders, his arms, his neck, slowly pressing his spine, heating every inch of skin with his hands, unknotting the tension until he was boneless against the mattress. He then lovingly caressed his ass cheeks, slowly opening them, moving his head to press his face there, softly biting him and letting his stubble scrape that tender skin, making it sensitive only to later apply his tongue as the best cure.

Stiles was breathing hard against the pillow, moaning, trying to turn his head to at least glimpse how Derek was touching him when a sudden cold sensation around his hole told him that he had started lubricating him and that something foreign, a finger, was carefully entering his body. He gasped and instinctively pressed around it, but Derek gave him the time to adapt, to relax again until he found the right sensation and focused on it, feeling his body expanding as his muscles released the need to fight. Derek then kept opening him, and he slowly found himself accepting more, asking for more, and before he could think enough about it to panic, the tip of Derek’s cock was pushing his entrance, carefully getting inside of him, inch by inch, briefly stopping for a moment when he couldn’t restrain a soft cry, to later continue until they were pressed one against the other and he could count Derek’s heart beats against his back.

Derek stayed still for what seemed to be a long time, both of them panting together, with Derek’s wet lips and tongue working around his neck while his hand moved until he could find the length of Stiles’ hard and leaking cock and could start to clumsily caress it.  He then tried a new position and started to move just a little, until Stiles pushed back with him, finding an uneven rhythm that seemed to be good for both of them. Then he truly thrust into him, harder, with open eyes and possessive hands, guided by Stiles’ pleasure whines and moans. And once the pain subsided and Derek was still coming inside of him, Stiles felt strong, invincible, complete in all possible ways. It was not a revelation, or the best orgasm he had had either, and he later discovered he preferred to be on his back with knees and calves pressing into Derek’s back as if his life depended on that, being able to look him deep in the eyes. But that first time he felt he wouldn’t trust anybody else in his life as much as he trusted Derek in that moment. And he knew he was trusted as well, a reciprocal current of feelings echoing his own through their melting skins.

So as he now finds that feeling he focuses solely on it, takes strength from it and holds his breath trying to steel himself against the pain until he can somehow dissociate from his leg, as if it was a piece of wood he has to move from his way before he can go back to his family and friends.  And using his other foot as a strong point of force and fixing his hands in a solid piece of metal that he blindly finds, he slowly starts to move his left leg out of the car seat that is trapping him, blood soaking his ragged jeans.

Yes, he can do this, if he doesn’t think about the dizzying pain and the disgusting sensation of his own flesh tearing apart, he is going to do it. Sweat is going down his temple, getting mixed with his blood and tears. But he’s about to do it, it’s almost there, he is freeing himself, he needs to keep pulling just a bit more and it will be it. And yes, finally, the leg isn’t possessed by metal anymore, is his again, sliced and bloody and wrecked, but fully his.

His body is free now and he could go. If only someone could pull him out of here, could separate the steel mess the door of his car is. He could live, he could go back to Derek and to his father. He’s shaking, sobbing, happy and desperate and feeling so, so lonely, overwhelmed by the pain that is coming back in waves now as a dark menace while he tries to shout, to yell, realizing he’s so exhausted and weak that is only able to cry softly.

And as this thought is formed in his brain he blacks out and is not able to scream or fight any more, his blood slowly pooling under him.


	6. Derek

SIX MONTHS LATER...

Derek opens the door of his apartment to find a grinning Scott and a slightly bouncing Allison waiting there. He smells alcohol and sweat and teenage hormones, and, mostly from Allison, the euphoria that comes after having had way too many drinks.

"Where’s Stiles?"

"Hey, hello Derek! How are you tonight? It’s nice to see you too! I thought you were already civilized by now, but I see that you skipped the ‘How do you initiate a nice conversation” lesson. Can we come in?"

Scott is talking with a silly smile painted across his face, and Derek doubts if slapping him now would give him the information he wants quicker or not… He decides it probably won’t serve well his purposes, not matter how satisfying that could be, so he lets them in instead and replies with infinite patience.

"Hi Scott, I see you had a great time hanging out with your friends. Can you please now tell me why Stiles is not coming with you?", and he breathes now, trying to fill his mind with images of sunny meadows covered with a dense layer of green grass peacefully undulating with the breeze.

"Hey, don't get so mad, man! We had fun, yeah, remembering old times, talking about this and that. I don’t know, time passed, drinks were finished and replaced, and… But you should have come, it was so good! This is bonding time really, and you always tell us how important it is to cultivate it! Besides, they weren't even driving..."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and explains for the twentieth time: "You know I don’t like these places, there are too many people, too many smells and noises, and I don’t enjoy drinking. Also, we agreed that you would come here after a while, not that you would spend the whole fucking night there. And you do remember you are still underage for drinking, right? I don’t want to know how or why you got those fake ID’s, but I think we should talk about it, because you’re putting yourself under the spotlight, and I thought it was clear we don’t want that, right? Also, what was Stiles thinking? He could put his father in a very compromising situation! If sometimes I forget I’m dealing with stupid teenagers you always manage to remind me in a very effective way!"

He’s disappointed and angry because he really wanted to have Stiles here tonight, even with Scott and some of the others around for some time, laughing together, playing some stupid games... and then keeping Stiles for himself, taking him to his bed, their bed, to find new ways to ruin the sheets, to mangle them until they form a cozy and warm nest where they would sleep until late morning. But now he will have to spend the night alone and cold. Even if he is never really cold, literally speaking, but...

"Well, I don’t really know  _dad_ , but I think you weren’t so sensitive about the underage issue some time ago, when you discovered you liked Stiles to do a kind of research that involved more of  your muscled body than computers…" Scott replies with a smug smile painted all over his face.

Derek’s eyes flash red now, and Scott is losing steam when he sees it. After all, he’s not drunk at all…

Derek's voice is cold and menacing when he replies sharply: "I thought you liked to play dumb here, Scott. Are you sure you know how to go with the smartass role?"

But Scott is cool running tonight. "Ok, don’t take things so seriously, dude, I think we just lost track of time and we didn’t realize things were going that far. Anyway, suddenly the two weak humans started speaking funny and I wasn’t able to understand them anymore, I mean, even less than normally, so I decided it was probably time to retreat and go home."

"So?" His patience is not infinite, but it seems that with a little help he’ll be getting something coherent finally, there’s some hope here… And it materializes when Allison talks now, even if it’s closer to a mumbling between giggles than actual words.

"Then Stiles said we should take him to his dad’s instead of here. He said he was so drunk that he only wanted to pass out and that you wouldn’t like to see him in that state, that we should take him to the Sheriff’s place."

Shit. And they think it's funny... Is this going to be a reasonable exemption if he kills them both? But wait, she goes on...

"...so we did. And when he got there he was making so much noise that the Sheriff awoke and came down to open the door and started asking what was Stiles doing there, that he thought he was spending the night with you"

Allison is trying to continue but she is almost bending over with laugh. After a few tears and deep breaths she finds the way to talk again.

"And do you know what he said? He said he was useless tonight, and that he preferred to go crash home instead of bothering you with a useless drunk body. Derek, he told his father he was  _useless_  to you tonight. Can you imagine the Sheriff’s face when he heard that?"

Allison is now producing a series of high-pitched and incoherent noises that make it difficult to understand what she’s saying.

"And then John demonstrated he’s as supernatural as you two here are, because instead of kicking Stiles in the ass he just said that he didn’t understand his son’s reasoning, that if you loved him so much you should be happy to clean his vomit, that he is going to call you the minute Stiles pukes in his room. So now you are warned, and I wouldn't take my shoes off if I were you, in the state he was."

And isn’t it pathetic? Because he really wouldn’t mind, he would prefer to have Stiles here even if he was drunk and passed out. He is never useless, and he likes to take care of him anyway. Allison is still babbling so he connects again with what she’s trying to say.

"Also, by the way, be ready tomorrow to receive an impressive amount of funny or disgusted faces anywhere around town, because I heard a few windows opening and saw some faces avidly listening to the juicy conversation. This is Beacon Hills, so half of the place knows this by now and tomorrow morning, or, well, this morning really, everyone in town will be able to reproduce an enhanced version of what really happened and mock you with it."

But somehow Derek doesn’t seem to find the hilarity of the situation as they do… So, instead of laughing he just narrows his eyes and shouts at Scott, involuntarily spitting as he yells.

"Scott, do you know who is useless? Do you, Scott? Well,  _you_  are useless,  _you_  should know better than to let them drink so much! Don’t you think you should have been able to control the situation a bit better?’

And maybe some of the alcohol did reach Scott’ system, because he doesn’t seem intimidated by Derek’s harsh words. A bit bored and tired, if something, but he still manages to respond quite fondly.

"Well, I think that’s why I finally decided it wasn’t such a bad idea to get a grumpy Alpha after all. I can see my mistakes, and you should have accepted them as well when you admitted me in your spotless pack."

When she hears that, and before Derek can form a reply, Allison opens her mouth to talk, staring at Scott with big dark eyes full of surprise and wonder.

"Scott, baby, you know I love you with all your mistakes included, with all your flaws and issues. Honey, nothing is going to change that! What is what they say? That you love someone for their imperfections, not in spite of them, right?"

Derek's eyes are now widening until they're about to pop out of his face. Is Allison talking seriously or just mocking Scott to his face? And Derek is amazed that he can't really say. He's listening to her heartbeat and trying to smell her emotions, but everything is very confusing and he can't be sure if she is just naif beyond measure or the best actress he knows. In any case, Allison will swear tomorrow that she is never ever drinking again in her whole life, but right now she is just euphoric, she’s at the point of swearing undying love for every soul she finds on her way from Derek’s apartment to her place, and even more for Scott, of course.

And evil or not, boy, she  _is_  drunk… 

"You know Scott? I even love you for your beautiful boxer face? I never said it, but I think it’s just adorable. You remind me a bit of a Picasso painting, the auto portrait with the big eyes… you know which one I'm talking about, right?"

Did she _winked_?

Well, probably danger just turns her on... because now Scott is really pissed off.

"Time to go home, Allison! Let’s go, you’re in no condition to talk." He's grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door, and Derek is not sure if there's a little malicious smile in her face or not. Her eyes are definitely shining, that's a fact...

"Why, because I just compared your face to a famous work of art? Are you… what? Angry?"

Derek is finally laughing now while he's closing the door, can’t help it. He’s still not sure if these two are really meant for each other, but they are definitely having a great time while finding out, and that’s more than many couples can say.

And he didn’t have Stiles tonight and probably won’t see him until the afternoon, but at least they are all here, alive and getting stronger, and lately things have been pretty easy compared with one year ago, or even six months before, right after the accident, when he thought his life was about to be devastated for a second time.

~

_SIX MONTHS AGO..._

_"Are you a relative? _"__

_"Uh.. no, not really, just a... a friend. _"__

__"_ Ok, then maybe you can call his parents and tell them we are taking him to the hospital. They can ask for him at the ER. _"__

_‘ _"_ Sure, of course, I’ll do it. Thanks. _"__

_Once the agent has left he realizes he doesn’t even have the Sheriff’s number, that he will have to call Scott to ask him to contact Stiles’ father and tell him that he is alive and flying to the hospital. He fidgets with his phone while he sees the ambulance getting smaller in the distance._

_He didn’t tell them he was Stiles' boyfriend or his partner or simply lied saying he was a family member, and he didn’t even try to use his alpha authority to get into the fucking ambulance without any other explanation. He just thought Stiles was in the best hands, was going to the hospital where he could get the help he needed now. And he even convinced himself that nothing else mattered, that he was ok and this was the only way things could be, the way they should be._

_So right now he is wandering outside the hospital, pacing and waiting for a call from Scott, not daring to go inside to find a rejection he wouldn’t be able to face after the day he's had. He keeps listening to all the noises coming from inside the building, the casual conversations, the hurried steps, the coughing, the soft cries, trying to get a hint of what was going on with Stiles, but getting nothing from his effort. What he wasn’t expecting was a call from the Sheriff._

_"Derek. It’s Stiles’ father, we are in room 101, I thought you would like to know. In fact, I thought you would have found your way here earlier… _"__

_And now he is inside a room where an unconscious Stiles is recovering from the blood lose and the transfusion he needed, from all the scratches and bruises and cuts covering his whole body, but mainly from the big wound along his left leg, the one that liberated him enough so that when Derek got to him he just had to remove the door of the Jeep to take him from there, a few seconds before that whole area went on fire._

_Scott is there, as well as the Sheriff and Melissa, and they shouldn’t be all allowed to be there for so long, in fact only Stiles’ dad has the legal right to stay for the night. But Melissa knows that family is much more than papers and finds the way to sneak Scott and Derek inside without being noticed, werewolf hearing ready to detect when someone else is coming for regular checks on Stiles._

_They spend the night having brief naps on the uncomfortable hospital chairs, pacing and stretching their limbs while waiting for any changes, and when he goes down for a little breakfast in the morning of course it is when Stiles decides to open his eyes with a deep and harsh breath. Scott sends him a rushed 'awake' text and when he storms back to the corridor where Stiles’ room is, the door is closed and there’s one doctor checking Stiles' vital signs and talking with the Sheriff, so the rest of them have to patiently wait outside until they are told. At least now visits are allowed and they won’t have to hide anymore. Thanks for small mercies…_

_When they finally can go back to the room, Stiles is nothing more than a long flat motionless protuberance on top of the hospital mattress, face and hands almost whiter than the sheets. He lost a lot of blood and despite the new one he received yesterday he is still very weak. His dad is by his side, and Melissa is working with the medical devices still connected to his body. Scott gets closer to him immediately to pat his head affectionately, squeezing his shoulder and smiling softly._

_Derek feels terribly out of place, like he is intruding at a very intimate family gathering, and hesitates before moving towards the bed, looking for a second at the Sheriff before timidly approaching Stiles. He awkwardly shuffles across the room until he reaches the bed, looking at the sunken eyes of the boy lying there, brushing his cheek with care with the side of his hand and lowering his face for a quick kiss on his forefront, obviously not expecting the bold reaction he immediately generates. Because Stiles clearly didn’t want subtlety there, or wariness or a tiptoe approach of any way, if one would tell by the strong pull at Derek’s arm and the way he throws his arms around his neck and his back as if he is drowning and Derek is his only chance to survive. He buries his face on the crook of his neck, eyes strongly shut, dipping the fingertips of one hand on his hair while he strokes his shirt with the other, claw-like. Derek can't fight it, doesn’t want to, so he just gives in and lets himself go into the hug, not giving a shit about what the other’s will think about it._

_This is an end-of-the-world hug, a speaking hug, one that says things like "I thought I'd never see you again, I thought I wouldn’t touch you again, I thought we were both dead.” Working in a hospital Melissa has seen this kind of hug many times, but never with someone she cares so much involved on it. Because Stiles is not her son, but she has known him since he was four and knew and appreciated his mother and is close to his father, so he’s not only his son’s best friend, he is someone she loves. And Derek… well Derek is Derek, and she is smart enough to realize that Scott probably wouldn’t have made it without Stiles and Derek by his side, even when he didn’t want the later or disagreed with both._

_Scott is blatantly looking at them while their upper bodies and heads are so intricately entangled, and something hard and cold seems to melt inside of him, a frostbite made of his own stubbornness and his proberbial lack of empathy. He continues staring and when he sees Derek so exposed he starts to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to allow him to be part of his life as well, to formally accept to be part of the pack, at least temporarily. Derek has obviously made mistakes, but maybe he’s not the only one, and probably his intentions weren’t that bad after all._

_The Sheriff is suffering, because he’s the one who can better understand the meaning of that hug, the kind of deep affection that he once had even if it couldn’t last long, and he knows what it is like losing it, how life has forever lost its colors for him and wishes with all of his heart that Stiles doesn’t have to hurt that way. But of course Stiles would be looking for this kind of relationship, because he’s nothing but his mother’s son. And hopefully Derek is less breakable than most, less likely to vanish leaving an empty hole impossible to be filled again._

_When Stiles finally lets Derek go he doesn't even try to conceal the wetness of his eyes or the goofy smile that he is wearing or the warm light that fires on his gaze. He just starts chattering with all of them with a rough but relieved voice, loosening to the comfort of having them all there, safe and close._

_Scott is asking Stiles’ dad about the accident and the other injured people when Derek approaches Stiles again and carefully places his hand under the bed sheets, very softly touching his injured leg. Dark lines start to crawl along his arm while his face contracts as he takes the pain from Stiles. John is facing them while he talks with Scott and his face goes blank when he sees Stiles’ features relax under Derek’s touch._

_"I didn’t know you could do that", he tells Scott._

_Scott turns to see Derek removing his hand from Stiles’ leg, his face slowly returning to his normal contained expression._

_"Yeah, well, it’s not something you would do at anytime or for anyone. It hurts, you know?" He replies with a slightly guilty face. After a few moments of hesitation he goes back to the crash, asking if any other students were hurt._

_During the morning they are told Stiles will need a few days at the hospital but that he will be released as soon as he feels stronger and the medication has had some time to act, so they are all feeling good that this time the “only natural” threat has been overcome and they are coming out of it almost ok._

_Well, not for the Jeep, of course._

_So John is now questioning Derek while thoroughly examining his own hands: "Derek, can I ask you something? Could you please take my son to and back from school for a few days once he can go back? Only until we find the way to replace his Jeep… I could tell him to use his bicycle, but with that leg I don’t think it is the best option."_

_Derek can’t disguise the smug smile on his face, and Stiles chuckles when he catches it. "Not problem at all Sheriff, I’m still trying to figure out which kind of job I should be start looking for, so I’m still the only owner of my time."_

_That really catches John's attention and is now looking at Derek with sincere interest. ‘Great, thanks. It’s good to hear you’re thinking about your professional future, besides being the leader of the local pack. Tell me if you want to discuss any options, ok? I might have a few ideas, or at least I could share some information with you, since I know most of the companies and jobs around’, and he hesitates for one second before going on to a more personal land. "Also… you can call me John."_

_"Ok, John, and thanks, I will take you up on your offer." Derek is the perfect image of formality, reliability and politeness now, even his eyebrows seem thinner, tamed..._

_But the Sheriff is really uncomfortable and clearly not finished. "Great, and... thanks to you. I... I would like to apologize, because I might have been unfair to you, although I hope you understood my motivations. I still think this won’t be a bed of roses, but what is, anyway? _"__

_He sighs and looks at the window, obviously in a hurry to finish and fly from there._

_"Just don’t expect me to call you son, ok?"_

_Derek opens his eyes even more, but he doesn't flinch. "Of course John, that's just right."_

_The Sheriff nods and looks away. "Mmm, I’m going downstairs to pick something to eat, ok? Call me if you need me."_

_Of course Stiles has a say to that. "Hey, dad, just FYI, I will ask Scott to smell your breath when you come back. So, behave, ok? Or brush your teeth before opening the door. I lost blood, remember, not cell brains." If that's a vengeance, nobody is going to blame Stiles._

_"Dude, that was gross!" Scott mutters, and keeps asking Derek about the option of having a real job, because he had been surprised by the statement and wants to check if that's a real thing or just a way to impress Stiles’ dad._

_John has his hand on the door handle when he whispers, ‘Not yet.’_

_He wanted to say it only for himself, but he remembered too late about werewolves’ damned superhearing and now he realizes Derek had stopped talking for a good couple of seconds after he let the two words escape his mouth._

~

So right now, as Derek walks to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he thinks about these last years in perspective and can’t believe how much things have changed, how at one point he thought he had lost everything and would never have anything again, and then here he is, with new hopes, finding that life was reinventing itself one more time. He will never forget the ones he’s lost, and it’s a sad long list, but he can move on now, can finally think about the future with an exciting mixture of expectation and confidence. Somehow the extremely rough live he had leaving in the train depot, running from one place to the other, hiding, risking his life and almost hoping to lose it, gave him a dark, sick satisfaction, and he had needed it after he lost Laura. But at one point he had to either change or die. Thankfully then he realized Stiles was there, even if Derek wasn't selfish enough to try to be with him and had to wait until Stiles decided to make the first move. But he wanted to be a better person, just in case, and that sufficed for a while. He can't believe he was so lucky that Stiles found him alluring enough to try to get closer to him, in spite of all the barriers and spines. Or maybe it was because of them.

Anyway, he's still coming to terms with the fact that this is his life now, that it includes a nice, functional place to crash into, a bunch of people he can relax with, who make him feel like team and family and a boy with the warmest eyes and the lushest mouth, who turns his word around and makes his body react in ways he wouldn't have imagined before...

It was only a couple of nights ago but he can't stop thinking, reviving the memories, the images. Here, upstairs from where he is standing just now. Whilst he lied flat on the bed Stiles rode him like he owned him, all the shyness and insecurity and doubts of the first times gone, disappeared, replaced by a magnificent self, beautiful and splendid while moving, glowing under the faint light with a slightly arched back. They still have to live a lot, but he swears that until today this is the most perfect image he has ever laid eyes on, the one he will invoke if he ever thinks death is finally getting him.

Stiles took him in one single slow thrust, already open and soaked for him, with the look of someone who was in command, who didn’t expect anything less than humble obedience, but only because he wanted absolute liberty to worship the object of his desire. He was swagging and enjoying the pleasurable suffering he was creating for Derek, reacting to his every little whines and loud moans, adapting his movements and smiling all the time with an open mouth and narrowed eyes, biting his own lips and letting Derek see his tongue darting outside, a wet promise for later. He got Derek crazy close to release only to then relent to an excruciatingly indolent pace and going abruptly stronger a second later, everything while he stroke himself obscenely, offering himself to Derek but not allowing the lying man to touch him. He mastered Derek and could focus and work on his sensations until he made him forget his own name or his lover's name. Derek always thought he liked to control everything and now he discovered that the best he had ever felt was being at the mercy of another person, trusting another body to make the right decisions, to drive him, letting Stiles take Derek to places he didn't even know they existed at all.

He could only try to root there in flesh and soul.

It would have been extremely easy for him to take Stiles by his hips and take the lead, forcing the rhythm and speed the way he liked. But he was in heaven and didn’t want to alter anything, so he just tried to grip the bedpost with his hands to immobilize them while he let himself being pushed to the edge until he lost all contact with any reality that wasn’t their sweaty jointed bodies. And when he came, for a few moments he felt his and Stiles' bodies on the air, supported by his hands and feet only, while Stiles' cum landed all over his chest and face.

And until then Derek thought sex was about genitals and orgasms... maybe biting as well, in his wild dreams. Fuck it! So stupid, so simple... Now he knows that's only the tip of an iceberg full of lips and tongues and hands and nipples and eyes and delicate fingertips… and the vast universe of movements and sensations you can create with them... and he was taught that by a boy under twenty who has been sexually involved with him only. Some things are really innate...

He knows he wouldn’t have any of this with anyone else, that Stiles is the silver thread that knits all his pieces together, the one person, apart from his mother, who has always believed in him without doubts or fears, and he would do anything to keep him by his side. Because despite his own fucked life Derek still refuses to believe in fate, he’s the owner of his own decisions and faces the consequences with either pride or remorse, but he will allow an exception with Stiles, because maybe this is his only chance, the one the universe has put in his path in order to reconcile him with something bigger and stronger.

So, destiny or not, he is clever enough to acknowledge the uniqueness of what he has and to understand that these kinds of opportunities are scarce and precious. He feels a warm sensation in his chest that he doesn’t know if it’s gratitude, affection or a strange sense of elation, but he wants to chase this feeling, catch it and cage it and keep it forever, safe and protected inside of him.


	7. The Forest

They are running through the woods at night, naked under a silvery blue moonlight that gives them the aspect of wild beings, ruled by nature, owned by nobody.

They go deeper and deeper into the forest, not following any trail or path, confident that Derek’s instinct and knowledge of the place will keep them safe for as long as they want to be there. They are not intruders, just part of a world that might have been forgotten for too long, and they easily blend with it without disturbing any of its permanent, mostly silent, inhabitants.

Stiles marvels at the fact that werewolves don’t inexorably end up following the cry of the wild and get lost there, never returning to what is called civilization. He feels his chest expanding with freedom, here. Things are simpler, pure, and for the first time he thinks it would be good to accept the bite and disappear in the deepest of the woods with Derek, living in the mountain without the pressures of the city or the fear of human predators. But then he remembers his dad, Scott, Allison, Isaac, Lydia and all the others, and knows that they will come back, that this is just a nice temptation that won’t become true, at least not for a long while. But tonight he can feel the pull of nature clear and strong in his heart and he thinks he understands his furry friends a bit better.

He’s not a wolf and doesn’t know if he will ever be, but has been running with them for long enough to spontaneously behave like them in many ways, and sometimes he feels closer to the animal part of his being than to the rational side of his brain.

When Stiles is too tired to keep up with Derek’s pace or when the terrain is too rough for his thick now but still human bare soles, he easily climbs the back of the werewolf and allows his strong friend to carry him for a while. He smiles and raises his chin to the wind, smelling the scent of the trees, the mud, the distant water, enjoying the sensation of their bared skins rubbing against each other. Even if he can’t clearly distinguish them with the blur light, he thinks that the fall leaves are the same warm brown color as his own eyes and that some of the trunks have the green gray tone of Derek’s, and the cheesy comparison gives him a warm sense of belonging inside his chest, of being where he is meant to be, the only place he can be absolutely free.

Then they find a clearing surrounded by thick pines and crossed by a thin stream with chill clear water and they stop, astonished by its serene beauty. Driven by the pure joy of being there together they start playing unashamedly under a cold crescent moon, chasing each other, jumping and rolling over the wet grass until they are panting, holding hands, rubbing their noses, clumsily kissing until they stop and lay down to rest, relaxed under a distant shelter knitted by a thousand stars. Suddenly though, one of them is up again and cheerfully resumes running, letting his feet take any direction, closely followed by the other, their footsteps and breaths and little whines the only sounds breaking the still of the night.

They don’t need words to communicate, their bodies and eyes are more than enough, and sentences would seem strangely out of place here, would break their connection with the moon and the moist soil under their feet, the trees and the cold stones that have gained their right to be there over centuries of slow movement and adaptation, that deserve all the respect and care the two of them can muster.

Finally they find a small, mostly dry hollow at the feet of a big white fir, covered with moss and fallen leaves, and Derek takes Stiles by his waist, gently pushing him down with him towards the rich smelling bed. And he caresses his back and kisses his head and his shoulders, mouthing at his neck to obtain the primitive comfort of closeness, of basic skin to skin contact, like little children and animals still know how to do. Stiles counters with as much love and care until they both fall asleep, Derek hugging and covering most of Stiles’ body to keep him warm during the rest of the autumn night. Before closing his eyes, though, Derek briefly reaches down to brush that scar in Stiles left leg that he is so fond of, so proud.

And until the morning sun slowly awakes them by turning blue and silver into light orange, Stiles will hold Derek’s hand tightly with his own, fingers laced as a permanent reminder of a bond beyond any rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I took way too many licenses in this chapter, but I liked the way it was coming and didn't want to alter it with unnecessary (?) logic...

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm an insecure writer and not a native English speaker, any corrections or comments are more than welcome!


End file.
